


Lub Sijhawm

by Sum_Won



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst, Ereri Week 2015, M/M, POV Second Person, Pining, Self-Acceptance, Self-Sacrifice, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 02:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4859825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sum_Won/pseuds/Sum_Won
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I don't want to close my eyes.</p><p>I don't want to even sleep...</p><p>Because I don't want to slip away from you for a single moment with the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lub Sijhawm

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be for Canon Eren x Levi Week Day 6 Monsters & Heroes but I couldn't finish it in time. TwT
> 
> In all honesty, I had been contemplating this idea ever since BlaqMarquet posted up that super sad Eren x Levi video on youtube way back. So if any of you are wondering where the inspiration for this short little fic came from it's that video. XD I've always wanted to write a fic in second person for you guys, so here yall go!
> 
> Also, if you have not already seen said video, I have linked it at the beginning of this oneshot so PLEASE WATCH IT!!! Q//A//Q It will help bring out the tone of this fic better than any of my words can!
> 
> On another note, the title of this fic is pronounced "lu" like the first syllable of Lewis, "shi" like how the pronunciation of the female pronoun she is in English, and then "ha-uh" like the shouting sounds done in kungfu-- if that makes any sense. ;A; So LU-SHI-HA-UH. The language is Hmong and literally means "the time."
> 
> Hope you learned something new!
> 
> ~Sum-Won~

[!!!WATCH THY VIDEO HUR FURST BEFO READ'N!!!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tLobmJ5rrDY)

You're ill.

Everyone knows that.

So today, instead of going about doing experiments, he has told you to rest.

And so, here you are, sitting in bed with him settled at the edge with his back to you. He’s crouched over with chin on folded knuckles.

You don’t know why, but you suddenly grow clingy. Your arms wrap around his waist in a tire manner; your cheek, pressed heavily on the blades of his back. You’ve never asked for permission on whether this is allowed, but you linger anyway. He, in turn, says nothing save carry your weight as you sigh into his posterior.

You think that he doesn’t mind.

So you close your eyes and fall into a tranquil repose.

Time does not pardon your weariness.

You wake up to the rays of the sun breaking through the window pane. As you blink, you can see that he’s right next to you—sleeping away. His face is buried in your chest; his arms, crumpling your shirt. You do not spill a word and inhale deeply to take in the peace.

But of course, a knock at the door awakens you from your realm of serenity.

You get up like usual—pulling everything together with a quickened pace. You answer the door and Hange smiles at you pulling papers in a messy scrunch. They glance behind you seeing him and mention that he seems more tired than usual.

You agree.

They ask if you feel better.

You nod. Though your profile is pale, your eyes shine with vigor and a soul that is at unrest when progress is impending fruition. They smile at you and repeat on what’s happening. You soak it all in like a sponge and inquire where you have fallen behind. The days pass away with work tailing your legs like mice scurrying for bread. With a month now buried in accumulating sand, you notice that the new recruits grow more talkative, more alive. However, they are not enough of a distraction to keep you from noticing how each hour is washed away in the storming rain.

Training is relentless.

But even so, he takes care of you.

He pulls you up, cleans you down. When he grows too tired, you stay by his side. Every night, you sleep by him tangled in his arms. It is his responsibility to make sure you live and fight to your fullest. And his duty that you also die should you miscarry the goal Humanity has thrust upon you.

You know that.

And you know many other things as well.

It is your duty to make sure that you never fail him.

The foggy air clears, and you stand there against the sunset. The plan is set. Everything that needs completion has been accomplished. The conclusion is beautiful though the sacrifice to get this far has been large. You’ve kissed Mikasa’s brow the night before and held Armin in a satisfied embrace.

You’ve done what needed be done—and perhaps almost all that you want.

You hear his footsteps. He’s approaching you. He asks why you’re awake at such an early hour. You cannot answer because you cannot fathom just what emotions would cross his mind. He reaches for your hand taking a firm grasp. He lingers at your side though saying nothing. You turn towards him and gaze at his profile.

Worn.

But strong.

Firm and beautiful.

He and you have become a single unit—functioning with the compromise of the other. There is no label that could retain the trust between you two. There is no title that could name what you two are.

But you are content.

And you would like to think he is too.

The bright sun has almost passed over the peak of the farthest mountain. He turns towards you, chips of ice meeting with emeralds of the brightest green. He asks you if there’s something on his face. You laugh weakly and reach out with both hands to hold his head in place. You answer in a hushed tone that, no, you are just trying to make sure you remember the contour of his face…

The way the light hits the bridge of his nose.

The speckles of pink that litter the left side of his cheekbone from a past burn.

The countless lashes of raven that line his lids.

The way his brows crinkle in thought from years of lack of sleep and stress.

Or perhaps how his perfect Cupid’s bow can transform into a firm line of distaste.

You sigh.

He looks at you inquisitively—perhaps wondering what you may be thinking. Your palms which cupped his cheeks slip away and return to your side. He watches you awaiting word. But you say nothing and instead take a step back with dominant hand rising to your lips. His eyes widen and he immediately steps forward—

But it’s too late.

Your scream erupts, breaking the earth’s calm. Chaos. There is no way to escape it. Everyone is scurrying to their places as squad leaders cry out instructing their clusters of soldiers.

You do not need to end anyone—just need to show an intent to kill.

You don’t know how long the struggle lasts as blast after blast you are hit again and again. Many try to wire themselves to you with their gear, but you are fast and precise enough that no one can attach themselves. However, you grow distracted by the cannons and he catches you off guard. He screams your name demanding you withdraw. He reminds you that you are his soldier, and he will not let you down if you should return to his side. You know that. You know. And that’s exactly why you will not withdraw. Because you understand…

He will not let you down.

You tire him out, injuring him only when necessary. You pluck at him, jabbing his ego right where he needs it most. The hiss from his gear echoes in your chamber of flesh. The orders he yell out to you in hopes that perhaps you will listen reverberates in the rib cage of the beast that you have become. You recall the days that you’ve spent together under the same roof sharing the unchanged rickety bed in support of each other’s physical health. You remember the growing normalcy of having his arm around you in your weary slumber where dreams only meant reoccurring nightmares. You had wished time and time again that you did not have to close your eyes. That you could stay awake from days on end.

Because being awake was where you could progress most. It was where you could see clearest, stand strongest, and search unrelentingly.

It was also where you could catch his brief smile, and snarky jokes. Hear the crack of his stretch and see the shape of his flesh in training.

Because being awake meant knowing you were with him.

And being awake meant knowing that he was with you.

You recognize when you have lost, because you slip away from the sensations of the monster you control. The slash of his blades having avoided you has failed him. And in the few seconds preceding your loss, he has struck you right at the core. Your colossal puppeteer collapses on itself as you sense dampness at the bridge of your waist. Your lung is punctured; your hip, dismantled. You cannot see, but you are confident that some of your ribs have gave way. The pain is intense, and your eyes bleed as the weight of the flesh above you presses down on your injured skull. You hear distant voices as the bulk of burning skin is peeled away layer by layer by people unknown to you. The mass of sinew that constrained you is cut in succession as you feel countless grabby appendages attempt to pull you out.

They call your name again and again inquiring on your health.

You cannot respond.

You are too weak.

Too worn.

You try to open your eyes to see what is going on, but the best your bruised face can manage is a squint into the blinding world. Your lips are parted in a raspy pant as you feel the cold wind brush against your face. They have moved you to the ground because you are no longer being tugged back and forth by countless bodies. You feel boneless with senses disjointed.

You don’t know when, but it had always been in the back of your mind. Planted and nurtured without you even knowing until just the past month when you finally came to the conclusion that this was how you wanted your ending to be. Your love for life is strong, but your hate for those who hurt you much too immense to be withheld. Fear was what once swallowed you into even proposing this conclusion for yourself. But now that you’ve made the decision, fear seems to be a factor too miniscule. Perhaps your actions are simply a way to make amends. Perhaps you wish to die a hero in your mind.

Or perhaps…

Perhaps that’s not the case.

Perhaps it’s not that you wish to die a hero, but you dearly want for him to live as a hero.

Although you can barely make out the world anymore, you know that you have come to care for him too deeply when you somehow are able to recognize his voice even in all the noise. You know it is him who takes hold of you, because although your senses have begun to numb the way his arms encircle is too familiar, firm, and reassuring.

Your heavy lids attempt fruitlessly to open as the blurry and bright vision of the world begins to dim significantly. His profile against the light is akin to a ghost unable to fully materialize in thin air and you begin to cry weakly. Because your voice is so hoarse and the string to your throat so brokenly clogged with injury, only tears form silently.

You don’t even want to close your eyes.

You don’t even want to sleep.

But death is gnawing away at your consciousness and you have already accepted its invitation.

Your darkening vision, though indistinct, somehow settles on a blue hue too bright to recognize. As your eyes close in finality, you come to realize that the bright blue was not the sky.

Instead, it had been the eyes of someone whose face had been overflowing with tears.


End file.
